


If Thou Be'st Born to Strange Sights

by maxcellwire



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers, Howl's Moving Castle - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Comedy, F/M, M/M, Magic, Parody
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-09
Updated: 2015-05-09
Packaged: 2018-03-29 18:53:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3906946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maxcellwire/pseuds/maxcellwire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The presence of magic was never a secret in this kingdom; witches and wizards came and went, and the people learnt which to embrace and which to fear. When Francis Bonnefoy becomes another victim of the Witch of the Waste's determination to destroy the Oxenstierna kingdom, however, he discovers that the line between 'good' and 'bad' magic is less distinct than he had thought.<br/>Howl's Moving Castle Crossover</p>
            </blockquote>





	If Thou Be'st Born to Strange Sights

**Author's Note:**

> I could have written something about this week's election (weep for us), or I could've written something historical about Liberation Day today, but you get this instead. Back in Autumn somebody on Tumblr suggested a FrUk Howl's Moving Castle crossover, and I really liked the idea, so finally I've got around to beginning it.   
> There are quite a few different characters and pairings involved in this but I couldn't be bothered to tag them all, so just a heads-up. Also with it being multi-chaptered....well....it might get updated within the next year...maybe  
> General disclaimer that the Hetalia characters are the creation of Hidekaz Himaruya, the HMC world and plot is the creation of Diana Wynne Jones, and I've just scrambled them up a bit for fun.   
> Emma is Belgium, Nicole is Monaco.

Once upon a time, there was a quaint little village called Rouy, where colourful flowers grew and the people smiled and chatted in the street, and birds sang sweetly in the trees. In this little village lived a young man called Francis Bonnefoy. Francis had never expected a great destiny, being born the eldest of three to a small family of tailors, but that was no problem. All he wanted was a simple life, where he could do what he enjoyed with his family, without any stress or hassles.

As a child, Francis had loved dressing up with his sisters, parading around in the clothes his parents made, be they tailored waistcoats or frilly dresses. When his mother passed away and his father remarried, however, he embraced his role as big brother and watched over his sisters as they grew. Now it fell to him to tie Emma’s hair with ribbons before school, or to listen to Nicole’s plans for world domination, all while helping around the shop and charming clients with his manners and his gentle smile.

Being a tiny market village, Rouy wasn’t particularly known across the kingdom, as it was hidden in King Berwald Oxenstierna’s lush countryside. The kingdom had been peaceful for many years, and the people loved their benevolent king very much. In recent months, however, they had grown tense, gossip and rumours flying from town to town. The kingdom had always been alive with powerful magic, it was true, but where once people had embraced it and to an extent relied on it, now they were becoming wary and frightened.

One day a castle had appeared out of nowhere on the hills not far from Rouy, hulking noisily over the countryside and choking out dark smoke day in, day out. They said that the castle was home to Wizard Pendragon, infamous across the kingdom for his wicked deeds. Some people said that he practised dark magic and intended to overthrow the King; others that came from another land and ate the hearts of young girls and boys alike, and suddenly nobody was allowed out after dark anymore.

When news got out, then, that the feared Witch of the Waste had threatened King Berwald’s daughter and killed Royal Wizard Carriedo, it was as though somebody had shut off the whole kingdom. Everybody hurried to and fro, eager to get back home for safety, and never opened their homes to strangers. They kept to themselves, turning their lights out early in the evening and hiding away. The whole world seemed to change.

It was around this time that, when Francis had just turned nineteen, his father succumbed to his weariness and followed his mother to the heavens, leaving the tailor’s shop to his new wife, Elizabeta. For a while the Bonnefoys managed to make do, working extra hard to design and sell as many clothes to the villagers as they could, but Francis’ sisters were still young and unskilled, and they could not replace his father’s eye for design. Only Francis himself had learnt the art of his craft, and they soon found that their money was dwindling.

One morning at breakfast, Elizabeta broke the news.

“I have decided,” she announced, wiping her mouth free from crumbs, “that it would be best for the three of you to take on apprenticeships. I cannot afford to look after all of you on the little money we earn in the shop, but if you were to work for another shop in the village, you would be supported and could learn some skills at the same time. Doesn’t that sound like a lovely idea?”

The siblings’ faces fell.

“Does that mean we’ll have to leave you for good?” Emma asked, frowning.

“Yes, does it?” Nicole added, although her own frown was suspiciously absent.

“No, of course not,” Elizabeta assured them. “You’ll be close by, and I can come and visit you often. I promise I’ve found the best positions for you, and you’ll really enjoy your work.”

Emma bit her lip and nodded reluctantly.

“So, where will I be working? Will I get paid?” Nicole asked eagerly.

“You, my dear, have a very exciting road ahead of you. Do you remember my friend Irina, who used to teach magic in Kungstad? She’s been looking to take on an apprentice for a while now, and I think you’ll be the perfect fit. You’ll live there and she’ll teach you all sorts of wonderful things, and probably introduce you to all her friends in Kungstad too. Doesn’t that sound exciting?

“Will I get paid?” Nicole persisted.

“Well…not exactly, but you can consider your wages to be the education you’ll receive. Once she thinks you’re ready, then you can go out into the working world, I’m sure.”

Francis glanced over at his sister, able to see the scepticism on her face. But Elizabeta didn’t seem to notice, instead moving on to Emma, who looked apprehensive.

“Don’t be so worried, my love! I’ve got a brilliant job set up for you too. You know the lovely little bakery where Feliciano and Ludwig work? They’ve kindly said they’ll take you on and teach you how to bake while you’re there. They’re renowned for treating their workers exceptionally well, so no doubt you’ll have fun there. I’m almost jealous myself!”

“Okay, that sounds okay,” Emma replied with a somewhat relieved smile. “Thank you.”

Elizabeta smiled and said, “It’s no problem,” before returning to her breakfast. Francis cleared his throat, but when she didn’t notice him, he rolled his eyes and spoke up.

“What about me, then?” he inquired. “Did you forget about me?”

“Oh, Francis! Of course I didn’t forget about you!” she said with a laugh. “You’ll be staying here with me to continue running the shop. I can’t do it by myself, after all, and everybody knows that you’re good for custom. The ladies love you, you charming boy.”

Francis sighed, having expected something like this. Obviously it came with being the eldest.

Soon enough the time came for his sisters to be sent away to their new homes. Francis stood out the front of the shop, watching them clamber into carriages with all their belongings packed into bags, the wind ruffling his hair. They looked so grown up in their long dresses, so different to the girls he had known since birth. They weren’t _that_ much younger than him, but he’d been protecting them for so long that it tore at his heart to see them leave.

“Francis!” Emma called from the window of her carriage, beckoning him over. “You make sure she doesn’t work you too hard, okay? I feel so bad about leaving you behind while we get to go off and have exciting new lives.”

“Yes, and don’t stay there forever,” Nicole added. “I know you, and I know that you’ll do as Elizabeta says and stay here, but your adventure is out there too, Francis.”

“Yes, yes, whatever you say,” Francis replied, smiling at them and leaning down to place kisses on their cheeks. “I’ll come and visit you both soon.”

“You’d better!”

He watched the carriages drive off with a sad smile, his sisters hanging out of the windows and waving back at him. The morning breeze was refreshing, and he closed his eyes and leant against the stone wall of the shop, listening to the sounds of footsteps on the cobbled roads. Staying at home with Elizabeta wouldn’t be too bad, and he would learn so much now that she could give him all her attention. Besides, he was still young, wasn’t he? There was still time for him to strike out on his own later, should he wish.

At least, this was what he had thought. The reality was unfortunately far from that dream. Elizabeta had him up early every morning, cleaning the shop and preparing for any customers. He worked from dawn till lunch, catering for the early morning rush. Once he’d eaten his bread and cheese, he was sent upstairs to work on more designs, hunched over at a desk for the rest of the day, until sleep relieved him of his duties.

At first he didn’t mind it. It was fun to greet all the people who came through, to flirt with the young ladies and chat with everyone about the latest gossip. He found designing clothes somewhat soothing, the way the needle dipped in and out of the fabric and the satisfying ache in his arm at the end of a good job. He loved to harness his imagination, challenging himself to create the most beautiful clothes he could, and sometimes he would parade them around the study, fondly remembering his childhood.

After a while, however, Elizabeta had realised his talent for designing and kept him upstairs while she catered to the customers below, and the work was beginning to grate on him. It had been a good few months since his sisters had left for their own apprenticeships, and he’d been so busy that he hadn’t had time to visit them at all. Elizabeta seemed to be out all the time, trusting Francis to take care of everything in the shop, and from his new home upstairs he didn’t even have a view of the people in the street below. All he had for company were the clothes, and the lack of human contact was starting to tug at his mind, exhausting him beyond belief.

“Only 5 more hours to go,” he would say to himself, feeling like he was going crazy as he stood in front of the mirror, holding a pale green dress up against his body to check the drape, “and you, my friend, are going to be a beauty. Some beautiful woman will fall in love with you and wear you to all the fancy balls in Kungstad, I’m sure.”

After weeks and weeks on end of talking to himself, however, Francis had finally had enough. He resolved to visit Emma at the bakery on May Day, knowing that she was only across the village. A little social contact would be good for him, and it _was_ his duty to make sure that his sister was okay. Besides, he’d heard a lot of talk filtering up from the shop below about the ‘cute new girl’, and naturally that meant he had to survey the potential suitors. For personal reasons, of course.

Rouy was bustling with people on May Day, as everybody overcame their fear of the Witch and celebrated on the streets. There was a pole erected in the town square, decked out in bright ribbons and flowers, with music and dancing on every street corner. Even Wizard Pendragon’s castle on the hills seemed to be getting into the spirit, as it appeared as though fireworks were being shot sporadically from the multiple chimneys.

Francis himself hurried through the streets, waving at people on his way and weaving through the crowds, until he arrived at the bakery. It was packed with people, and you could barely hear the music outside for all the shouting of the men and boys jostling in front of the counter.

“Where’s Emma?” one cried.

“Emma, over here! Pick me!”

Frowning, Francis shoved his way through the crowds until he could see the counter, and could just about make out his sister’s face behind the glass, flushed with exhaustion as she tried to get everybody’s orders in. As she handed a bag of coconut macaroons over the counter, Francis popped up and called, “Emma? Can I talk to you?”

As soon as she caught sight of him, her face lit up and she grinned. Whispering briefly to her fellow worker, who looked somewhat put out that she wasn’t receiving any attention, she pulled her apron over her head and made her way into the back room, beckoning for Francis to follow.

“Why does he get to see Emma before we do? What right does he have?” the crowd wailed behind him as he pushed through the curtain into the bakery’s storage room.

“Oh, Francis, it’s so good to see you!” she exclaimed when they were away from the noise. “It’s been so long, I thought perhaps Elizabeta had kept you locked up in the shop. Come, have a seat,” she pulled two crates from the side and plopped down on one, “let’s chat.”

“Ah, my dear, I missed you too, very much,” he replied, taking the seat gratefully. “It’s not so much that Elizabeta has me locked up, but more that I just have lots of work to do, so I keep myself busy. It’s entirely voluntary, I assure you.”

Emma raised an eyebrow and folded her arms across her chest. Her hair was falling into her eyes and there was a smear of flour up her forearm, but even then she still looked like the older sibling. Francis swallowed, suddenly feeling somewhat small.

“’Voluntary?’ You had no choice! We were right, then, that she’s been working you too hard, you poor thing. You should find a better job, I’m sure we’d be able to hook you up somewhere-“

“Wait, who’s we?”

“Well, Feliciano, Ludwig and I, of course! They know all about you now, but never mind that. She’s probably working you until you drop every night, and is she paying you at all?”

“Well, not exactly, but-“ Emma looked outraged.

“She’s not paying you anything? I _knew_ she would do something like this, she’s never really cared about us at all. You need to get out of there, Francis!”

His lips twitched with the hint of a fond smile.

“I appreciate your concern, honestly,” he said, laying a hand on hers, “but I _do_ enjoy my work, and if it weren’t for me, we’d lose the shop entirely. One day I’m sure I’ll find something better to do, but I don’t mind it so much for now, so don’t you worry about me.”

“You’re far too kind Francis. I don’t remember you being so eager to work when we were younger,” she teased. He batted her hand away, laughing.

“Well, I don’t exactly remember you being so feisty! I suppose it comes from needing to beat off all your admirers with a stick every day.”

Francis had expected another giggle, but instead Emma’s hands dropped to her lap and she glanced away, twiddling her thumbs. His smile slipped from his lips.

“Emma? What is it?” he asked tentatively, and she took a deep breath to steady herself before speaking.

“Okay, Francis, please don’t freak out but…I’m not Emma.”

He gaped at her.

“What do you mean you’re not Emma?”

“I’m not her. I’m Nicole.”

Francis barked an incredulous laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous, of course you’re Emma! I think I would be able to tell the difference between my two sisters.”

“You sort of did, already. Emma really isn’t all that feisty, because she’s not here – she’s with Mrs Chernenko.”

“With _Irina?_ ” Francis’ eyebrows were drawn so tightly together it was starting to hurt. “That’s insane. I watched you both drive off that day. You came here, and Nicole went to Irina’s house.”

“Yes, you’re right, but we swapped places,” she explained, running a hand through her hair so that there was flour in her fringe. “I didn’t really want to be in the middle of nowhere, and Emma said that she’s always wanted to learn magic, so we decided we’d swap places. I only had to stay at Mrs Chernenko’s house for a few weeks before I found a suitable spell to make us look like each other, so now I’m working here and Emma is over there. It’s simple, really, but you can’t tell anybody else about it, _especially_ not Elizabeta. God knows what she’d say!”

“Does Mrs Chernenko know?” Francis whispered, still shocked by the revelation. It was difficult to see the girl who was so clearly Emma in front of him yet accept that she was actually Nicole. Even he hadn’t been able to tell the difference, other than in personality, so no wonder everybody in the village was fooled.

“Well, we tried to hide it from her, but we forgot that she could sense magic too, so she knew what had happened straight away. She played along for a while, but when Emma accidentally answered to her own name, that’s when we knew that she had found out.” Nicole grinned sheepishly and Francis’ eyes grew wide. The trouble they could be in… “Don’t worry, though! She’s totally okay with it, because she’d rather teach a willing student than one who doesn’t care. Emma sends me letters all the time and says that she’s really enjoying her time there, and I love it so much here in the bakery. I’ve made so many new friends and I really think I’m getting good at pastry making.

“So that just leaves you, Francis. Are you happy?”

He glanced at Nicole. Even though she looked weary, there was an unmistakeable colour in her cheeks. Her smile was brighter than ever, her voice filled with breathless enthusiasm. He couldn’t recall ever feeling like that, not even when he was younger.

“I’m happy enough,” he answered. “It’s my job to look after the shop, anyway.”

She gave him a scathing look.

“And that just proves it. Francis, you weren’t born to stay holed up in that shop all day. You have gifts that the people want, and there’s a whole world out there waiting to be explored! Do you really want to just sit in the dark all day with nobody except Elizabeta for contact, working for bread and cheese and nothing else?”

“Well, no, of course not.”

“Then do something about it! Demand a better deal, or find somewhere else to work. Just because she’s our stepmother, doesn’t mean you have to listen to her forever, you know.”

At that moment, Nicole’s co-worker popped her head through the curtain.

“It’s getting too busy out there, Emma, I need you to come back out,” she said, and Nicole nodded before standing up, stretching her legs.

“Please make sure you look after yourself, Francis. I love you and I want more for you than this.” She moved forward and wrapped her arms around him, holding him close to her chest. Francis closed his eyes with a smile and hugged her back.

“I will, I promise. I’m just glad that you’re enjoying yourself too.”

After a few minutes’ observing Nicole’s potential suitors in the bakery – whom, since they didn’t even know that she wasn’t actually Emma, Francis didn’t rate too highly – it was time for him to be getting back to work himself. As he stepped back out into the street, however, he realised that something was off. Where earlier everybody had been dancing around merrily and music had rung out from one end of the village to the other, now it was almost silent. Everybody had gone back inside, even though it wasn’t yet dark, and the silence was suffocating.

Swallowing nervously, Francis wrapped his arms around his torso against the chill and began to make his way back home, his journey considerably less enjoyable than the way there. Even the windows looked like they’d been boarded up; no light shone from the doorways, and the life had been sucked out of the village.

As he was passing across the town square, he heard a voice calling behind him.

“Excuse me!” it cried, “Excuse me, young man, I think you dropped this.”

Halting in his tracks, he turned to face the stranger, whose hand was stretched out towards him, a familiar silky ribbon wrapped around one finger. Francis’ eyes were first drawn to his suit, well-tailored so that the dark grey fabric outlined his slim legs and torso. His hair was ash blonde, falling in his eyes where he looked up at Francis through his lashes.

“I think you dropped this,” he murmured, and Francis took it from him, his own blue eyes meeting enchanting green.

Francis thanked him, feeling a strange sensation curling in his chest. “I hadn’t realised I’d dropped it.”

“Well, you did.”

“Yes.”

There was silence, and Francis licked his lips nervously, wondering why the man was looking at him so intensely. At first he had thought him charming, but his demeanour was awkward, as though he didn’t quite know how to converse with another person. It was amusing, in a way.

“Uh, do you know where everybody’s gone?” Francis asked, hoping to snap the man out of his trance. His surprise jolted him backwards and into the real world, and he cast his eyes to the ground, straightening his suit.

“You mean you didn’t hear?”

“Obviously not.”

“The King’s brother has disappeared. Everybody scurried home as soon as the news was revealed.” Francis gasped, eyes wide as saucers.

“Disappeared? How can somebody just disappear?” The stranger hummed in thought.

“Well, I’m not saying he just vanished into thin air. Something must have happened to him, but nobody is quite sure what.”

“Was it the Witch? Or Wizard Pendragon?”

The stranger’s lips twitched with amusement before he shrugged.

“Could’ve been. Other people are saying the King sent him into exile. He _is_ rather paranoid these days.”

It was known all over the kingdom that Prince Matthias hadn’t been on best terms with his brother in recent months, with most assuming it was due to the tension that hung over the palace thanks to the threats of the Witch. But surely the King couldn’t have sent him away when there was so much danger in the kingdom?

“Well, he has every right to be paranoid!” Francis retorted angrily. “Wouldn’t you be, if the Witch of the Waste had threatened your daughter, killed the Royal Wizard and was now trying to take over your kingdom?”

“You seem very passionate about this subject,” the stranger noted bemusedly.

“And you seem very annoying. Good day to you.”

With that, Francis began to march off.

“Wait, wait!” the man shouted again, rushing after him. He was at his side instantly. “At least let me escort you home. If you’re right about the threat to the kingdom, then it’s not safe for you to go alone. It’s the duty of a gentleman to help someone in need.”

Francis scoffed.

“I am perfectly capable of looking after myself, and I don’t believe it would be very wise of me to allow strange men to take me anywhere. Do you take me for a fool?”

A pale blush spread unexpectedly across the man’s cheeks, and his fists curled up at his sides.

“No, but I took you for somebody with sense,” he muttered bitterly. “I was only offering my help, but if it’s not wanted, I shan’t bother next time.” He stormed off in the other direction, suit tails fluttering behind him, and Francis laughed humourlessly.

“What a crazy man! Perhaps it is strangers like him I should worry about, rather than the Witch.”

It only occurred to him when he was lying in bed that night that the man could have been one of the Witch’s henchmen, out to spy on the townspeople, by which point he was so exhausted that the thought was swiftly forgotten.

In fact, the looming dangers seemed to be forgotten by most people over the coming days. Despite the lingering curfew and the whisperings that filled the town square, people went about their business as normal. Francis settled back into his usual routine of chattering aimlessly to his creations, daydreaming as he drew the sewing machine over a bottle green waistcoat, doodling designs in a notepad during his lunch break. It would be lovely, he thought, to have a little cottage out in the countryside, with a huge garden full of flowers. He would grow fruit trees and vegetables, too, and harvest them in the summer to make soups and quiches and jams, would sell them at the market fair and feel the warmth of the sun on his skin.

Ah, to be so lucky! Unfortunately for Francis, there was one too many obstacles standing in the way of his dream, and three days after May Day it revealed itself.

Elizabeta had gone out for the morning, citing a very important meeting with one of her friends across the village, and Francis had been left in charge of the shop. It was a fairly quiet morning, people walking past the shopfront but never entering, and Francis was happy to lounge around behind the counter and get some rest.

At about ten to midday, the bell tinkled, signalling a customer, and he peeled his eyes open to see the grandest looking character ever to have walked through their door. He was a young man, probably in his early twenties, and decked out in a smart suit with a velvet waistcoat. A deep blue cloak hung from his shoulders, secured to his suit with gleaming sapphire brooches, and his pale blonde hair was held back with a silver clip that glinted in the light. A tall, simple looking assistant followed behind him.

Francis immediately righted himself, raking a hand through his hair while the man was perusing the clothes on show.

“What can I get for you, sir?” he asked, smiling politely as he’d been taught.

“I’m just looking for the moment.”

“Of course.”

He watched the men judging his wares, shifting nervously from one foot to another as they walked past each one. He hadn’t known anybody be so intimidating about it before, but he supposed that was a result of the man’s importance. He certainly looked like somebody who would have an important role in Kungstad, probably working for the King himself. Maybe he managed his finances, or greeted the King’s many guests, or…

“Do you know Emma Bonnefoy?” the man asked suddenly, and Francis jolted back in shock.

“Sorry?”

“I asked if you know Emma Bonnefoy.” Francis glanced over to the trembling servant behind him before his gaze returned to his customer’s face. His eyes were a dark blue, flat and empty, and Francis felt a shiver crawl down his spine.

“No, I’m sorry,” he fibbed. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not. Emma Bonnefoy, whoever she is, isn’t here. Only me.”

“This is Bonnefoys’ Tailor’s. It is owned by the Bonnefoy family. Emma Bonnefoy _must_ be here.”

The man didn’t even seem to have blinked during the entire exchange, still fixing Francis with that penetrating stare. Francis found that his mouth moved without thinking first.

“Must be another Bonnefoy.” He shrugged.

“Do you think I’m stupid?” The man hissed, his composure cracking. Francis gulped. “Do you expect me to believe there is another Bonnefoy family in this pathetic excuse for a village? You will pay for this insolence, boy.”

As he spoke, his eyes flashed wickedly, and Francis staggered as he felt his chest constrict, his breath stuck in his throat. Pain shot through his limbs and he gritted his teeth, not wanting to give the man – whoever he was – the satisfaction of seeing him weak.

“This is unacceptable!” he gasped out, digging his nails into his palms. “I was telling you the truth.”

“Well, isn’t that funny? I already know that you are Francis Bonnefoy, brother to Emma Bonnefoy, and yet you dare to lie to me and say that you aren’t? I imagine your sister would be very upset to hear you denying her existence like this.”

Francis shuddered at the thought, riding out the waves of pain wracking his body and waiting for them to subside, while the man simply stared at him, a hint of a smile on his otherwise expressionless face. The quivering assistant said nothing.

“Hmm, yes, that worked very well,” the man observed, tilting his head for a better view. Francis scowled and gripped the counter until his knuckles were white, sweaty fingers slipping off the wood. “That’ll teach you not to mess with the Witch of the Waste. Not that you’ll have much time left to do so, mind you.”

“ _You’re_ the Witch of the Waste?” Francis cried incredulously. “But I thought-“

“Whatever you thought, it was wrong. Now that you’ve experienced my treatment, I don’t think you’ll be forgetting my face any time soon. Too bad that you can’t tell anybody what’s happened, or else it’d make a very interesting story for the rest of the boring people in this boring town.” He chuckled before clicking his fingers and spinning on his heel. “Come along, James. We have places to be.”

The door swung shut behind them.

Francis collapsed back into his seat, still feeling small tremors in his limbs, and groaned at the ache in his body. Yet while his body seemed to have given up on him, his mind was whirring, trying to remember the Witch’s face so that he would be able to warn other people. He would have to write a letter to Emma to tell her that the Witch had been looking for her, and he was suddenly exceptionally thankful that he’d decided to lie for her in the first place. The pain he could endure, but losing his sister he could not.

Once Francis felt steady again, he went to make himself a glass of water before setting about warning his sisters. As he reached out for the tap, however, he glanced down and noticed that his hands were not his own hands. Rather, they were the hands of an old man, wrinkled and worn, and weaker than he remembered his own hands being. Horrified, he left the tap running and rushed to a mirror, scarcely able to look at his own reflection for fear of what he might find.

Ah, but it was worse than he had expected, and Francis felt tears welling up at the sight of himself. His soft blonde hair was gone, replaced with greying straw that sat heavily on his shoulders. His once youthful cheeks sagged with age, his brow creased with years he had not experienced, his lips lined with the stresses of another man. All that remained of the reflection he knew, of Francis himself, was his deep blue eyes, peering out tiredly from behind wrinkled folds of skin.

A single tear trailed down one wrinkled cheek, hanging off the edge of his chin before it dripped to the floor silently. Francis’ lip trembled with the effort of trying to remain in control of himself, before he threw all caution to the wind and sobbed, “No! This is the worst thing to happen! How could he do this to me?”

He brought his feeble hands up to his face to try and wipe away his overflowing tears.

“If I don’t have my looks, what do I have? My hands are too stubby to sew, my eyes are too weak to draw, and now I cannot even make the ladies smile with a face like this. That wretched Witch has done me for life!”

He sniffled, his face contorting into all manner of ugly expressions, and his shoulders sagged with the effort.

“If only I had not been the eldest child,” he lamented, “then I could’ve been sent to learn how to bake or practise magic. Now Nicole has hundreds of men begging for her hand in marriage, and Emma is so happy with Mrs Chernenko, while I am stuck here all on my own, an old man, surviving on bread and cheese while Elizabeta goes out and dances with her friends all day. Because that’s all she does, goes out and dances and chats and sings while I’m working upstairs, and I won’t stand for it any longer. As an elderly man, I’m exercising my rights by going on strike!”

During his rant, Francis’ tears had dried out on his cheeks, and he felt the smallest spark of vitality still lingering in his veins. Daring to glance once more at the mirror, he caught sight of himself, searching for his jaw within his new facial structure, the way his hair parted at the side, the slant of his shoulders. They were familiar, in a strange way, because they had been his all along, but now it felt as though they belonged to another man.

“Francis,” he addressed his reflection, seeing his own lips move in front of him, “you need to get over this silliness and do as you say. Nicole was right; it’s about time you did something for yourself, rather than helping other people all the time. And it’ll be no good for your health to sit around here all day, scaring off customers while you look like an ugly old hag.”

He turned away from himself, then, searching around the shop until he found a ribbon with which to tie back his hair. The familiar gesture alone comforted him, even if the aches in his limbs at the movement did not.

Steeling his resolve he stood by the door and faced the shop, casting his eyes over all the clothes he had made in recent weeks.

“I’m leaving you to Elizabeta, now,” he told them, bowing his head. “She is the one who owns you all, anyway, and I’m sure she’ll take good care of you. But now it’s time for me to take care of myself. Farewell, dear shop and all the fond memories you hold, it’s time for Francis Bonnefoy to search a new life.”

With these parting words, Francis left behind the tailor’s and changed his destiny forever.

**Author's Note:**

> I think I started channelling Ovid and going into Metamorphoses mode there at the end...


End file.
